


Did You Forget Something?

by chaos_and_color



Category: my own life - Fandom
Genre: Awkwardness, F/M, First Kiss, Romance, Theatre, dance, first encounter, how i wish it had gone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 19:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16878195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_and_color/pseuds/chaos_and_color
Summary: The agonizingly awkward and adorable tale of how I met my now-boyfriend, as it actually happened (with only  slight embellishment to the first part).





	Did You Forget Something?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [M.G.](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=M.G.).



After three days of awkward flirting and playful banter, it seemed anticlimactic to be standing outside the threatre—awkwardly close but painfully aware that we were not touching—with no promise of future contact. Shawna was busy loading the last few recital boxes into her car while conversing with other dance moms nearby, trying to decide on a location for post-recital drinks and food. I turned to him and we made eye contact for a split second before turning away again.

“So…” I began awkwardly, breathless despite only a one-word utterance.  
“So.” He replied, expectantly.  
“Good show.” I turned, smiling. He was already looking at me.  
“Thanks. You too.” I nodded, trying to hold his gaze a moment longer.   
Reflected in the street light, I could see that his eyes were a warmer shade of brown than I first noticed, reflecting little golden flecks when the light hit just right. “It would be fun, uh, if we hung out sometime.” I finished, rushing on the last half of the sentence.  
“Yeah… I would like that.”   
I opened my bag and pulled out my phone, thankful to have something to do with my hands, before they grabbed his of their own accord.  
“Should we—“ I gestured with my phone, leaving the sentence unfinished.  
“Yeah, give me your number and I’ll call so you have mine.” Without breaking my gaze, he wordlessly unclasped his iPhone from the holster on his belt and tapped it awake. I recited the number and watched over his shoulder as he typed in my name.   
“Oh, so close! You almost spelled it correctly—there’s another ‘a’ in there.” I leaned over his arm, close enough to notice that he smelled very pleasant, even after working in the stifling heat of the light/sound booth for the past three hours and then helping pack up the flooring and props. It sounds corny, but I could feel the electricity between us—the potential energy of a relationship waiting to happen.   
“There. I’m calling, so you can save my number.”  
“I see that,” I smiled at him, “thanks.”

Shawna finished stuffing the last recital box into her car and shut the hatch. She yelled something to her kid, who was monkeying around in the backseat, before turning to me.   
“You ready? I think we decided on Chile's—it’s the only place open. I need a drink!”  
I turned to Michael, but Shawna beat me to the punch:  
“We’re all going for drinks and some food. Want to join us?”  
“I would really enjoy it if you came…” I added in, quietly.  
He looked pleased but hesitated, “I have an early morning... 6am call to open up the building and get the tech setup for a church group that has their service at 9. I don't actually go..." he trailed off, seeing my raised eyebrows and appraising look.  
"I was about to say! Not to be stereotypical, but you don't look like the average church-goer from around here," I tease playfully, flicking his long ponytail.   
He grinned (and my heart fluttered quickly) and turned to Shawna to confirm the recital dates for next year.

I took this moment to double-check that I saved his number in my phone, recognizing the fluttery sensation in my stomach that indicated nerves. Was I really going to walk away without taking any initiative? I took a deep breath and stowed my phone away. He was starting to walk toward the theatre…  
“Hey! Um, do you mind if I pop back inside and use the restroom really fast? End-of-recital nerves, ya know…”   
“Yeah, sure. Ladies room is down those stairs and to the left.” He pulled the heavy front door open for me and followed me inside. I paused in the doorway and yelled out.  
“Hey Shawna? I’m just gonna pee really fast and then I’ll meet you guys at the restaurant, okay?”  
“Sounds good. I think we may go to the studio first and drop off some of this stuff—yaknow what I mean?—and I’ll text you when we’re headed for the restaurant.” She walked over to her car and got in, rolling down the window to wave to me as I squared my shoulders and walked back into the theatre lobby.

I didn’t actually have to pee. Well, maybe I did—but I think that was mostly nerves. I really needed any excuse to come back in and find him alone. I walked into the ladies’ room to check myself and make sure my mascara hadn’t formed black rivulets down my face when I was sweating while carrying stuff out to the cars. Then I adjusted my bra and my leggings, swiped more deodorant under both arms, flushed a toilet for good measure, and applied just a touch more lipstick. Walking slowly up the stairs into the lobby, I scanned the area for him; when I didn’t see him, I assumed—or hoped—that he was in the theatre.

He was setting the ghost light on the stage when I walked silently up the carpeted aisles. He finished unraveling the power cord and had just plugged it into an outlet on the back theatre wall when he turned around and saw me. He smiled shyly.  
“Hey. You forget something?”  
“Yeah.” I walked slowly up the ramp, gently biting the side of my lip as I walked—an indication of anxiety on my part, but apparently also a turn-on (at least according to one ex boyfriend). I was feeling brave and just about ready to make my move when his sudden reaction blow a hole in my clever ploy.   
"I know what you forgot! The broomsticks, from your dance that used the Harry Potter music!" He strode purposefully off stage left and retrieved a bundle of long dowels and pipe cleaners, the post-recital remains of what had been half a dozen homemade "broomsticks" for my intermediate jazz class. I swallowed hard, silently cursing my forgetfulness, and extended my arms to gather the unruly brooms. When I reached for them and he passed them into my awaiting arms, our hands interlocked for a moment, and I looked up at his face to gauge his reaction. He look momentarily as stunned as I felt, then pressed the broomsticks into my arms and stepped back.

“Was that all?” He asked helpfully, "I haven't finished going through the dressing rooms but I haven't seen anything else laying around..."  
"Um..." I looked around the theatre, trying to steady my own racing nerves while I gathered the courage to make a move.  
"Just one thing..." I murmur, and take half a step toward him. I worry that he might recoil or stiffen up, but he cocks his head playfully to the side--his ponytail swinging down off his shoulder--and looks at me with his impish brown-flecked-with-gold eyes.  
"Yeah?" he asks with a sexy half-smile, "what would that be?"  
“This…” I turned to face him, my heart beating wildly in my chest, either from excitement or my underlying sinus tachycardia or both, and he didn’t back away.   
Our eyes locked as we simultaneously leaned in, breathless and uncertain, until our lips met, held together for just a second, and then slowly pulled apart.  
We both exhaled nervously and looked away.   
“I… uh… felt a connection with you as soon as Shawna introduced us.” I confessed quietly.  
“I felt the same thing,” he murmured, matching my tone. 

We locked eyes again and in an instant our lips met again, my broomsticks fell out of my arms and rolled around on the stage and I steppednimbly over them, my arms wrapping around Michael's well-muscled shoulders and my fingers lacing through his long hair. My glossed lips slid over his, pulling and caressing and then parting slightly so his tongue could dart through like a little minnow and then slip out without too much attention. His hands were on my back, one on the bare skin where my dress dipped down in a deep scoop neck, and the other resting slightly above the curve of my butt. Our breathing slowed, and we kept our lips together for just another second while we breathed into the physical contact; next moment, his mouth opened with renewed vigor and his tongue pushed into my mouth. My tongue responded with equal enthusiasm until they were sensuously waltzing around our open mouths, passionately exploring without reservation. His lower hand cupped my bottom so lightly that I might have missed it, and I moaned lightly into his mouth. He paused, savoring the moment, and then pulled my lower lip between his teeth carefully as he slowly pulled away.   
"Damn,"I sighed contentedly, "when Shawna said that this theatre had its perks, I thought she meant the state-of-the-art lighting and projection systems... I guess that extends to the amazing production technician as well."  
"Ahhhh, thanks. But you and your dancers are the real amazing talent here."  
"Well, without you, we would be dancing in the dark without music, so let's just say we're not anything without the other and call it even."  
He regarded me for a moment with those luscious brown eyes, then leaned over and kisses me softly, pulling slowly away so that the kiss lingered in the air. "Now we're even." He said, reaching for my hand. "May I walk you out?"  
"Now you're trying to get rid of me!" I exclaimed with mock exaggeration, bending seductively over to gather the misshapen broomsticks from the stage.  
"Well, I'm afraid if I didn't walk you out, we might just lose track of time in here, and like I said, I have a 6am call. It's already after midnight!"  
"Is it?" I gasp and pull out my phone to check. Sure enough, the backlit screen blinks "12:04 AM" and I stow it back in my coat pocket.  
"I guess we'll just have to do this again sometime..." I gush with fervor, moving to edge of the stage.   
"I would like that." He nods in agreement and takes the brooms from me so I can climb down. I sit on the edge of the stage, put my hands down on the ledge, and catapult myself off, managing a sort of petit allegro-type jump in the air.   
"Graceful," Michael says appraisingly, passing the broomsticks down to me.  
I take them in my hands and step back into a pirouette, holding the brooms over my head.  
"Flexible too," he notes, with a sort of yearning in his tone.  
I grin bewitchingly back at him. "Ohhh, you have no idea..." I wink and walk swiftly down the aisle.

 

His voice calls out from the stage, "Brittany, I am so glad I met you tonight."  
Without looking back, I call "Goodnight Michael! Text me soon!" and practically skip out of the theatre, feeling lighter than when my ballet girls perfectly nailed their triple pirouettes.


End file.
